Straight Shooting, and Other Half Truths
by FlawedVictori
Summary: Meeting a man is never simple, but it's even more complicated when you're a member of Overwatch, former or otherwise. Fortunately, Jesse McCree has a penchant for being in the right place at the wrong time.


**He's Never Been a Straight Shooter**

 **A/N:Mchanzo, woo. Never really tried writing this ship before, but I've always thought it was cute. If you liked this, check out my tumblr, Chickengums?**

Jesse McCree had never been a fan of putting on a face for the crowds.

Not that he wasn't good at it, of course, but still, he didn't like all the pomp and circumstance.

Still, being an Overwatch agent (officially, at least) meant doing shows, being seen out and about, making sure the people were less afraid of them than the omnics.

' _Still…It's nice to be recognized as the best.'_ He thought, trying to find a way to scratch his chest under his suit without being seen. _'Well, one of em. I don't mind sharing the spotlight with Miz Oxton, anyhow...'_

They were being paraded around at some high society party in Japan as "The Next Day of Overwatch" and he was almost hoping for an assassination attempt.

They'd stuck them in suits, and while Lena pulled it off perfectly and was probably off charming some high society girls and maids alike, he…well, he hadn't seen any good looking guys so far, and he didn't like suits.

Either he'd get to take a bullet for someone, or he'd get to shoot something, and ether one would break the monotony.

"McCree!" A harsh voice barks out, and he groans.

' _Morrison.'_

He made his way through the crowds, and found Gabriel standing with his arms crossed beside Overwatch's resident hardass.

He took one look at his stance and his red face and chuckled internally.

' _Looks like the golden boy can't hold his liquor.'_

He didn't _say_ that, of course. Morrison was the type to hold grudges, and _technically_ he could assign him extra training.

"What iz it, boss?" He asked, trying his best not to grin, and Gabriel instinctively opened his mouth to respond.

Morrison talked over him, though. "Get your gun out, rookie. Mister Nakayama here-" he said, gesturing towards a middle-aged man by his side, "Says he'll pay for the rest of the evening's drinks if you're as good as I say you are."

' _Gotta hand it to him, he's not slurring all too bad.'_

McCree nodded, and began reaching for his gun…until a hand on his shoulder stopped him.

"How about we do this outside?" Gabe said, in that voice he always used for training, and they nod.

/

The night air is cold, especially on his ears, and he wishes he had his hat for the hundredth time that night.

He's shivering in his suit when Nakayama's assistant tosses a can in the air and Morrison belts out "Fire!"

He quick draws, taking a second to figure out the arc, absentmindedly noting the group leaving the party… and that's when his brain turns to mush.

' _Ho-lee shit.'_ is his first thought as he looks over flawless skin, a beautiful face, and the stride of someone who knew exactly how gorgeous he was.

' _I'd ride him rougher'n any horse I've ever seen'_ is the second.

He's walking along with some older guy, probably his father, and a few guards, one of them practically carrying another guy with a crop of bright green hair.

"Rookie!" Morrison yells, and his eyes snap back to the can.

His first shot goes wide, but the next five are as perfect as ever, juggling the can in the air, and Morrison is already laughing and turning to Nakayama.

The gorgeous man stops, and turns to look at them, his head tilted quizzically, and Jesse wants to go over there and-

Morrison claps Jesse on the shoulder, and he has to bite back anger. "Told you he was good! Can't blame a boy for a bit of _performance anxiety_ , right?"

' _That_ _ **hurt**_ _, dammit!'_

He laughs uproariously at his own joke, a couple translators joining him.

The other spectators, Nakayama included, give some polite laughter, and the crowd starts to disperse.

Morrison goes with them, and Gabe's hand squeezes his shoulder.

"C'mon, kid, I know you're better than that. What's on your mind?"

He shook his head. "Aw, c'mon boss, you know how it is. Doin it for a crowd ain't my style."

The older man starts walking away, and his son turns to follow

Gabe nods, and there's a short moment of companionable silence as Jesse continued to watch the group leave.

"Kid, for your sake, I hope it isn't the green haired one."

He jumps out of his skin and whirls around to glare at Gabe, who just stood there with that damn smirk on his face.

"A Shimada is already a lot to handle, falling for the black sheep wouldn't be doing yourself any favors."

"Shimada, huh?" He says, crossing his arms and unknowingly mirroring Gabe's stance. "I'll have to remember the name."

Gabe just grunts in response.

/

The first thing he does once he's through the door of the room he and Lena will be sharing is start tearing his way out of the suit.

(Not literally, of course, but he wouldn't have minded much.)

"Sorry, luv, still not into men. You're rocking that chest hair, though" Lena quipped, rummaging through her luggage.

"Yeah, yeah." He responded, turning toward her. "Your 'mones are in your side pocket."

She checked it, nodding. "Thanks, luv! You want help with your shot?"

He just shook his head. "That's next week, but thank ya anyhow."

"Mmm." She responded, swallowing down her pills and a generous helping of water.

"Is that spy-ro really that bad?"

Lena flopped onto her bed. "Oh, it's the worst. At least my E tastes better… uh, anyway, you meet any cuties?"

He raised an eyebrow. "Maybe I did. Did you?"

"I asked you first." She replied, stretching out.

"Well, I wasn't the one who disappeared halfway through the thing, was I?" He winked.

She threw a pillow at him. "Oh, sod off!"

They glared at each other for a bit… and then shared a chuckle.

"Yeah, I entertained a couple girls for a bit, sue me." She said, sitting up and crossing her arms. "Now, your turn?"

He shrugged. "I mighta seen someone."

"Was he cute?" Lena asked, her eyes lighting up.

"Cuter n' socks on a possum." He confirmed, and Lena gave a squeal.

"C'mon, luv, spill! Tell me everything."

"Well…"


End file.
